


Sea Change

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e11 The Neptune Affair, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 07:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: No time to sleep, to eat, and the possibility of being grounded in the Soviet Union permanently - it catches up with Illya all at once.Missing scene to season 1’sThe Neptune Affair, takes place immediately after Illya briefs Napoleon about the destruction of the Russian grain harvests.





	Sea Change

**Author's Note:**

> What struck me most about that scene was Illya’s distress and exhaustion, and the contrast between him and Napoleon, in the way that they are dressed (Illya is a bit dishevelled in a shirt with no tie, whereas Napoleon is dapper in a suit) and their demeanour (Napoleon is calm, relaxed, and Illya is nearly desperate). 
> 
> That (and a general musing on time zones, travel times and jet lag) got me thinking about the ramifications of the missile strike for Illya.
> 
> Your thoughts and insights are always really welcome. Thanks for reading!

_Illya: “The next field to ripe; at Orbesk, where I must be tomorrow...One more missile falling on Russian soil will trigger off instant retaliation, then counter-retaliation - ”_

_Napoleon: “How long do I have to find Dr. Lavimore and the missile?....Oh exactly three days. Gee, that’s a relief. I thought it was going to be a rush job.”_

\- The Neptune Affair 

* * *

** Illya **

He knows that this apparent lightheartedness is his partner’s way of trying to reassure him -  ‘_I’m not worried so why should you be?’, _ but all the same, it irks him, because he cannot forget what he saw of the wheat fields, the potential implications for millions of people - a second holodomor - if the nuclear strikes from the Americans don’t kill them first. If he had a choice he would choose the bombs, excluding of course the insidious effects of radiation poisoning, in which case starving to death might be the kinder alternative... he suddenly feels terribly nauseous. 

He must be doing a poor job of concealing his emotions because something in Napoleon’s expression softens. “Trust me. I’ll find the missile.”

And now he is even more irritated, and he swipes a hand over his too-hot forehead again. “I do trust you,”  he says, sharp and hurting and wanting Napoleon to hurt too, “but you have no idea what’s at stake.”  _I will lose everything,_ he wants to shout, but he doesn’t. And something yet deeper still, a half-formed thing; _I will lose you._

He succeeds in his wish to hurt his partner because Napoleon raises his eyebrows slightly, wounded, his eyes flicking over to the dossier, to the map, as if he’s trying to work out what he missed.

Snapping at Napoleon is like snapping at a puppy, and he turns away and the room turns with him. He puts a hand out to steady himself and ends up leaning on the globe, and the globe slides away and he is sliding too until strong hands grip his arms and haul him into a chair. There is a vague shape kneeling in front of him but a white haze has settled over his eyes and he cannot hear anything his partner is saying over the rushing in his ears. For a moment he feels like he’s falling upwards and he grabs the underside of the chair for support.

“I don’t have time for this,” he manages to say, breathless, frustrated, and he tries to raise his head only for Napoleon to force it back down again. 

So he has no choice but to sit like that for the next few minutes. Gradually the roaring recedes, and his vision clears. Napoleon withdraws his hand and he finds himself regretting the absence of it, as if that solid weight is the only thing keeping him here and without it he will be swept away on the air currents that are decimating those beautiful fields.

He feels Napoleon shift next to him and he blurts out, “If this missile is launched then I will not be coming back from Orbesk,” because some things are easier admitted to the floor than face to face. 

“I figured as much,” he hears Napoleon say. 

When had he allowed himself to start trusting in the constancy of this partnership?It went against everything he believed and had witnessed of the world.  _Permanence is an illusion. Nothing lasts forever._ As a boy he had taken solace in that; it helped him to endure when his country was war-torn and starving. But now he finds himself desperately wanting to believe otherwise. 

Slowly he straightens until he is sitting upright. He is weary and slow, and he feels  a sickly headache brewing.

Napoleon stands then and looks down at him. “I’ll have someone from the commissary send you up a sandwich. Then I suggest you go find an empty room somewhere and take a nap. What time’s your flight?”

“Seven o’ clock tonight.”

“All right. I’ll see you when you get back.” Napoleon waits for him to respond. “Illya.”

“Yes,” he says, because he must say something.

Napoleon pats his cheek, and Illya pushes his hand away. 

He makes himself watch as Napoleon leaves, because the cold reality is that this might be the last time he sees Napoleon, and no amount of optimism and hope will change that. Still - 

“Good luck,” he offers.

Napoleon winks at him from the door. “I’m always lucky.”

Then he is alone.

_Finis_


End file.
